


Mr. Fell's Secrets

by Fanlan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale, Crowley Has TWO Penises, F/M, Light Bondage, M/M, Naga Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Smut in some parts, slight possessive crowley, the lads aren’t connected to heaven or hell, they chose each other centuries earlier, top crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24129001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanlan/pseuds/Fanlan
Summary: Mr. Fell was a secretive man and with some pushing from Shadwell, Newt was forced to uncover what he had hidden upstairs. Not human au, just Naga Demon Crowley AU.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buckets_Of_Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/gifts).



> this is a gift for my friend Leah, who is down. Please go give her well wishes at Top Crowley Central on tumblr. She is going through a hard time.

Mr. Fell wasn’t nearly as bad as Shadwell had made him out to be, Newt even found himself appreciating the other man a bit more considering he gave him payment for his services around the book shop. Newt couldn’t say he was much of a spy, he didn’t find anything out that besides surface level details everyone knew, but he would admit he was becoming quite good at mastering Mr. Fell’s strange book system.

It was less to do with the Dewey Decimal system or even the simple alphabet , it all had to do with how willing Mr. Fell was to part with any single tome. Newt found out quickly he wasn’t willing to part with any book without thinking it over carefully beforehand, often making the customer so frustrated they left without the book anyhow. 

Shadwell hadn’t sent him to ‘spy’ on Fell over his odd shop choices though, he had sent him to find out what Fell was hiding. He was hiding something, even Newt with his endless trust in his elders knew that. The problem was: what. What could a gentle soul like Mr. Fell be hiding? Whatever it was, surely, surely, it could not be dangerous.

;

What Mr. Fell was hiding in his upstairs loft was dangerous but only the kind of danger that occurred when provoked. Otherwise, the demon Crowley was quite docile. As docile as a demon of hell could be that was.

Restless, bored, and annoyed but docile and harmless none the less. He had wrapped his long snake half around the master bedroom California king bed and had his human upper body flung dramatically across it, staring up at the night sky expertly woven into the cloth canopy of their bed. The radio and the Telly a distant hum of noise coming from the small living space of the loft.

Crowley knew he couldn’t complain much about the loft, it was spacious enough for him to stretch and Aziraphale had always been good about bringing home whatever he asked for but he longed for the freedom they had once had. He longed for the olden days of Rome and Greece and Egypt where he could be treated like a god and take care of his angel properly instead of them being reduced to this.

There was no hiding a half snake man in the modern world, there was no longer a place for him to be welcomed without drawing attention to Hell and putting him and his love in danger once more.

His mind wandered to the burn of golden angelic blood on his hand, the smell of smoke and the rasping breaths of his name begging him to not leave.

He grit his teeth and stayed put.

He heard the door creak as it was unlocked and the background noise going silent as Aziraphale turned off the ‘waste of electricity’. The clatter of plates from the kitchen and the soothing smell of supper being cooked for them in the kitchen. He didn’t wait to be collected tonight, unusual for him he uncurled himself from bed and made his own way into the cramped tiny kitchen on the other side of the loft.

Aziraphale didn’t even look up from stirring the boiling broth as Crowley wrapped his arms around his waste and rested his head on his angel’s shoulder. His tail was uncomfortably low to the ground to do such an action but breathing in a new cologne from his angel was worth it.

“Been to the barber?” he asked and Aziraphale merely chuckled in reply.

“Don’t go accusing that nice old man of anything again, he cuts my hair for heaven’s sake, he’s not trying to get in my trousers.”

“Cutting hair is an intimate act,” Crowley tried to defend himself, feigning offence.

“I won’t let you near my curls with scissors, not after the last time,” Aziraphale mumbled under his breath, wiggling away from Crowley enough to put more seasoning in the pot before shutting the lid to let it simmer a moment.

“In my defense you wouldn’t exactly hold still, not my fault.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer, he frowned thinking of how he had looked like a freshly sheered sheep for weeks. It was times like that he regretted turning against Heaven to be with Crowley, he had to live without miracles unless he wished to be found and that meant living like a mortal. Well, a mortal who was bound to a Naga Demon and didn’t age.

Aziraphale settled at the small nook cramped into the kitchen near enough to the stove that he could just adjust his body and glance into the oven to check on the lamb chops cooking. Crowley’s tail wound out of the kitchen and circled around the living area, flicking the TV on once more with its tip. Crowley leaned against the counter, snarling at a potted plant he had put here earlier for punishment. He had held it over the gurgling disposal until he was certain it promised to not wrinkle again and yet here it was, still wrinkled. With Aziraphale in the room, it was off the hook but only for now.

“What’s with the new blood in the shop?” he finally asked taking his eyes from the large Telly mounted on the wall. The Great Bake off was coming on soon and it was their favorite show to watch together, hadn’t missed a single episode yet and Crowley didn’t plan to. They had half an hour to kill though before it finally came on.

“Ah yes,” Aziraphale hummed taking a sip from his tea, “Newton. Shadwell’s little spy. Sweet boy, but I’m afraid I can only be pleasant with Shadwell so long. I have no need for an assistant.”

Crowley snorted, clearly showing he was displeased at playing their paid strong arm’s game at all.

“I need trust between the witch army if we want them to be our informants and keep their eyes and ears open for any sign of Hell, so unfortunately, that means playing games sometimes.”

“He tries anything, I’m getting rid of the entire blasted army,” Crowley warned opening the fridge and eying the contents a moment before pulling out a generic soda. Funds were getting tight and that didn’t always mean they could waste it on fine wine, but Crowley had gained new habits since his forced isolation. Junk food became one after too many commercials made him curious.

Aziraphale chuckled at his protectiveness and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek before shaking his head. Newt was harmless and it was becoming clear Shadwell wasn’t going to do anything. They needed allies and they weren’t going to get them with fear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping I would be able to get another chapter out yesterday morning, but I sadly didn't. I hope the chapters get a little longer as we go on.

“Any reports, Private Pulsifer?”

Newt stood before his sergeant, straining in his effort to stay in attention and holding his salute while he stood thinking. Did he even have a report? He considered saying nothing, but Shadwell looked about ready to blow any second now. He didn’t want to chance that after that heart attack scare last time his sergeant had gotten into a frenzy. Poor Madame Tracy next door was in quite the scare herself when the hospital had informed them about the old man’s preexisting heart palpitations he had never gotten sorted.

“Well,” Newt began coming at ease at Shadwell’s snarl, “Mr. Fell may have a pet snake.” 

“A familiar then?” Shadwell asked eyes bugging out wide in the anticipation of being proven right. 

“Not sure about that,” Newt mumbled scratching his neck awkwardly, “Just saw the shed skin in the bin out back, it was rather large and I was afraid something may have been skinned but he just chuckled and explained he had a large python upstairs, to take care of the mice he said.” 

“A python for mice?!” Shadwell shrieked, making Newt jump, his entire body clenching tight as the sergeant slammed his fist on his wobbling desk. The poor thing had been abused by fists, slammed object and a few solid kicks in the year since Newt had assembled it together and the cheap wood was already on its last leg, ready to collapse any moment under the weight of old newspapers. 

“Mista S,” came an echo and a light knocking on the paper thin wall, “Remember yer heart, we don’t want another incident.” 

“Ain’t gonna be any incidents!” Shadwell bellowed at his wall, slamming his fist against making his framed newspapers and military collectibles shake, “Mind yer own, harpy!” 

“Alright, alright, but I ain’t got time for emergency rooms, Mista S, Delia is coming by this afternoon and it's going to be a long visit. She wants conference with the late---” 

“I don’t want to hear about yer talks with demons and devils!” he continued as Madame Tracy merely chuckled. That woman was a saint. She could take anything and didn’t take offense easily. Newt knew he and the saint next door were about the only people left Shadwell had. Truthfully, Newt only stayed out of pity and lack of guidance in his own life. Shadwell had his gentler moments, but you had to get past a lot of sludge to find it. Newt hadn’t really considered himself patient until he met the man really, he sometimes wondered if the madame was the same. She would never allow one of her clients to speak to her like Shadwell often did. 

Shadwell had lost whatever patience he had after losing his train of thought however and waved Newt off with his hand. He pulled out a rather old and tattered book barely holding itself together, ready to collapse any moment and sat down at his favorite rotted out recliner. 

Newt could almost image gentle Mr. Fell’s appall at the flat and Shadwell’s behavior. Maybe the state of the book alone would have him pulling out his umbrella and chasing him out of Newt’s life like he often did to customers who threatened harm to Newt’s person. 

Madame Tracy caught him on the way out, calling to him and rushing down the stairs before he could disappear out the door. 

“Before you go off to see Mr. Fell, could you pick something up for me, dear?” 

He wanted so desperately to tell her no, she often used his kindness to her advantage getting him to go out of his way for her on these errands. Yet, he could just never say no to that bright and kind smile. 

“It’s not a big deal,” he found himself saying instead of the no he so desperately wanted to say. 

The older woman smiled that smile, the one that was a victory lap rubbing in her easy win and gave him instructions to go see her dear friend’s daughter Anathema Device. She was an hour out of London, likely two hours out of his way with Dick Turpin as his travel mode. 

He just smiled though and didn’t fail to reassure the woman it was no problem for him to go out to Tadfield to collect some potions Madame Tracy had requested from the young woman who she had assured him was quite lovely. 

; 

The telly was white-noise to help calm Crowley’s restless nerves after his angel had gone out. Gone where he could not follow, leaving the shop vacant and hollow. He had kissed him before heading out, the taste of lavender from holy lips still lingering, and promised to be back soon. 

He thought back to his temple in Athens. That one had always been his favorite, it had been the closest to Eden he had come since he had first transformed into a snake. He remembered the garden he and his angel laid in, his tale wound tightly around the angel as he read to him poetry their followers wrote for their snake god and his divine mate. Aziraphale had never felt comfortable claiming to be a God, his loyalty to Her was always stronger than Crowley felt she deserved. 

He felt himself once more wound around his love, if he concentrated enough it almost felt like reality once more. He felt the smoothness of naked flesh, soft and plush fat weighted wonderfully against him. He smelt the fresh and sweet oils he had just messaged into his skin. The sun was bright and warm, not wretchedly hot, but the welcoming summer weather where clothes weren’t needed and it was easy to fall into little dozes surrounded by their floral paradise. Doze with his angel under his upper body, snugly protected under him where nothing could harm him. 

The kiss on his forehead brought him from his daydream and he looked up into Aziraphale’s bright smile. Everything was so different but Crowley found comfort in knowing Aziraphale never would. 

“I brought sushi if you would like to join me, darling.” 

Crowley didn’t deny his angel much but he denied him his request. He slumped back down on the couch and yawned. 

“I think I just want to take a nap, angel.” 

“Good night then my love,” he whispered kissing Crowley on the cheek and pulling a tartan blanket from a basket by the couch and wrapping it around his shoulders, “Pleasant dreams only.” 

Crowley drifted off thinking only of warm smiles and summer weather that never ended in his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been three days since Aziraphale had seen Newton Pulsifer and he did not want to admit it, but he was rather worried. He had been quite reliable in the four months he had worked at the shop and had yet to miss a single assigned day. That was quite the Herculean feat in itself if you asked the angel, his shop opened sporadically any day of the week and any time Aziraphale decided it needed to be open and one phone call was all he had ever needed to get Shadwell’s little spy to come in. 

He stared out into the murky upstairs window into the sea of umbrellas sloshing through the Soho streets wondering if maybe he should contact someone to make sure the lad was alright. He hadn’t answered a single one of Aziraphale’s calls all morning nor had he answered him the previous day.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Crowley called from his bundle of blankets on the couch, his tale making the anger jump as it playfully wound around his midsection, “It’s freezing in here. Get over here and warm up, won’t ya?”

“My knickers are perfectly adjusted, thank you,” Aziraphale stated prim as ever, drumming his fingers against the tail coiled around him. He looked towards the bar across the street, it was surprisingly packed for such horrid weather. There was a tinge of sadness in the air today, maybe that was only normal for the start of weekend. It was past four and everyone was getting off their shift, everyone except young Newton who hadn’t clocked in at all. 

“It’s peculiar is all,” Aziraphale fretted absently petting the sleek scales tightening around him, “I am usually particularly good at reading people and Newton just didn’t seem like the type to not call.”

“Tell me angel, was the Bastille reading people properly?” Crowley chuckled his tail squeezing tighter around Aziraphale’s middle, “The Nazis? King Arthur? That business with what was his name, the magician? You know the one—”

“It’s cruel to tease,” Aziraphale state pursing his lips forward but allowing Crowley to drag him back towards the couch into his waiting arms.

“Terribly sorry, angel, but cruelty is in my demonic nature,” he whispered huskily into his angel’s ear and making Aziraphale glare as his long tongue slowly, traced its way down the outline of his face and making him shudder with desire as fangs kneaded into the tender nape of his neck.

“No,” Aziraphale stated firmly and the tale unwound allowing him to rest against Crowley’s chest comfortably, the tail acting as more of a weighted blanket across him then a snare.

“I’m afraid I must disagree my love,” he whispered taking one of Crowley’s hands in his and placing a kiss on it, “Nothing demonic would ever respect boundaries as you do.”

;

Aziraphale didn’t feel he could complain about the state of things. He loved their neighborhood and he loved his book shop and he would always have Crowley. He couldn’t say he could ask for much more in life.

He sat on the edge of the tub filling for his Crowley and stared into his own sullen reflection in the water. That knot was tightening in his chest again, he knew the feeling quite well, guilt and he went a long way back. He was being terribly selfish again, wasn’t he?

He was the one who had brought them back to London, he truly thought he could give Crowley a more human form five hundred years ago and it had worked, very briefly. Very briefly Crowley was able to enjoy city life with him, he even found a love for driving in 1930.

A single tear fell as the guilt tightened around him and whispered into his ear how it was his fault Crowley was stuck between forms once more. Crowley lost humanity when he sensed Aziraphale in danger and each time he reverted more back to this. He was caged like a beast in this book shop because of Aziraphale.

He dumped lavender oil into the tub and watched it fizz turning the water a soft muted purple and swallowed his guilt, this was about his love and he was making it once more about himself.

“It pains me somedays,” Aziraphale jumped a little as Crowley slithered into the room, “To see you have to prepare anything. Back in Rome, fuck, even back in 1930 there were always servants to do these things and you would never have to lift a delicate finger. Always well taken care of and worshipped as you should be.”

He picked up Aziraphale’s hand and took the oil from it with dismay, gently popping the buttons of his vest and staring longingly into his angel’s eyes hoping for permission to continue.

“You are beginning to shed, my love, this is not for me,” he chuckled but Crowley took that as consent popping each button open slowly and tenderly. Aziraphale didn’t fight him as he slid his upper clothing off him and soon the other half of clothing followed.

Crowley swept his angel off his feet and into the bath with him, butterfly kisses trailing down naked flesh making Aziraphale giggle as they both splashed into the water.

;

Aziraphale had bought a phone machine back in 1990. His lovely neighbor at the time had told him strongly his habits of having to answer the phone were a thing of the past if he purchased one, he really should update if he didn’t want to near break his neck answering every disgruntled person who wanted to give him a call. He had thought on it as he had thought on it when the devices had been invented a decade earlier not sure if he was the polite thing to do leaving the phone unanswered like that and forcing people to leave messages that he could decide to call back or not.

After a series of rude calls Crowley had taken over for, sending all his pent up rage to the person on the other line who was very determined to get Aziraphale to sign up for their service, Aziraphale had given in and decided there was little in harm in merely implied rudeness. Surely the person calling would never know if their message was just deleted by Crowley who was always the one to check the device. 

Upstairs, the couple was too far gone to their own passion of each other to notice the phone ringing and the old machine taking a new message.

“Mr. Fell, it’s Newt…Newton Pulsifer, I suppose, that is the name you tend to call me.”

A pause, a breath and shuffling of something off on Newt’s end of the phone.

“Anyway, I am terribly sorry for not making it in, but I will be in tomorrow. Or that is I hope I can be. If you wish to open that is.”

Another long pause followed by a shuffle and an unfamiliar female voice.

“He means to ask if you can come pick him up, he’s in the Tadfield medical center and his mother is out of country. I don’t trust this Shadwell and you sound a bit more reliable.”

The message ended.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoy, I am not amazing at writing smut...

There were exactly two bedrooms in the loft, the master bedroom which was surprisingly large and spacious; and a guest bedroom. It was cramped and had once been Aziraphale’s sewing room but had become a vast garden to impression Crowley’s many potted plants.

Crowley had made room just for them, he led his angel in and laid him on the cushions he had prepared on the floor. It was a perfect imprint of his body in the cramped and cluttered room, almost like an alter to worship him at with the floral surrounding.

“Don’t move,” Crowley hissed to him as he squirmed trying to get comfortable, “Lay perfectly still. Like a sacrifice to the gods.” 

Aziraphale gave him a stern look, he felt more like a body being prepared for the afterlife. Bare skin on soft surface, leaving tickling against his bare feet making it harder to stay still and only Crowley above him. He was giving him nothing short of his best critical eye, only seeking out perfection.

“A lovely offering,” Crowley purred and Aziraphale allowed him to play his game, “Are you pure for me?”

“Of heart but not body, my lord,” Aziraphale stated bringing his fingers up to brush against Crowley’s face and Crowley cupped his hand gently giving him a stern frown.

“Who has defiled a gift for the gods?”

“I’m afraid I’m rather deceptive my lord,” Aziraphale said with a wry smile, “Your sacrifice is always the same. It is always me.”

“Why the deception? Why not stay to worship me always?” he leaned in kissing his angel’s bare skin making a chill run down his spine at the light flighty brushes of his lips, ghosting their way down his neck.

“I can not worship you as a God, my lord,” Aziraphale breathed softly, “I am an angel of the true God and sent by Heaven to destroy the false ones.”

“Then why am I still here, little angel?” he breathed against his neck, tongue inches from the nape of his neck, the angel’s human heart’s pounding hard at each breath hitting his exposed skin.

“I worship only Her, but you, my lord, have stolen my heart and I wish my mortal body to go to you as your sacrifice. I am allowing you to capture me in your love but never own my soul that belongs to Her.”

“That is a fair compromise, little angel,” Crowley breathed playfully, sinking his teeth into the angel’s skin at last making him tense in anticipation and loop his leg tightly around Crowley’s upper body in pleasure. Crowley sunk his fangs lightly into the skin, piercing only to leave a mark, a small reminder that the angel’s body was his and his alone. Blood began to bubble from the wound, but Crowley’s quick tongue lapped away each drop before it dared stain such perfect skin. Aziraphale let out a giggle he could not keep in anymore, ruining the mood at each lap at his sensitive area.

“The sacrifice shouldn’t laugh at the claiming mark!” Crowley grunted, rising and breaking character to glare at his angel who still trying to stifle giggles.

“I’m sorry my love, it tickles and I can’t help it,” he snorted out gently putting his hand behind Crowley’s head and pulling him back down once more, “You may go on with claiming your wayward angel. I am finished.”

Crowley rose completely and ran his hand angrily through his short red hair, so petulantly Aziraphale began giggling once more practically hearing the ‘ruined the mood’ complaints. Aziraphale forced himself up on his knees kneeling before the naga, he always looked mightier in this position. Dangerous to anyone but Aziraphale, a force of nature meant to destroy, his teeth sank a little in his lips at the thought of being wrapped protectively inside his tail.

He ran a single finger across his lover’s sleek, smooth and freshly peeled tail smiling up at the blushing naga. He continued to stroke, playfully and gently until Crowley finally faced him again, curios.

“Please wrap your tail around your sacrifice and present yourself, dearest,” Aziraphale begged, lips pouting out and eyes bulging in that look Crowley never denied. The tail wrapped snuggly around his angel’s form, tightening around him slowly, hesitant about where to stop.

“The arms free or no?” he was nervous glancing down at him as he stretched himself up, almost hitting the ceiling now.

“Tighten your prey, dear, let me worship your body like I was meant to.”

Crowley glanced down, worried a moment always fearing losing control and hurting his angel but he relented. He tightened himself tight around his angel and then tighter with a nod from his love. His cocks appeared before the angel’s waiting lips.

A thick tongue brushed against one then the other, bobbing lightly against one and then the other, going back and forth until Crowley was beyond words and hard.

“Ngk,” he managed out and he didn’t complain as Aziraphale laughed this time. He became tighter without thought and felt Aziraphale’s enjoyment in that, his effort showing itself. The tightness around him seeming to make his angel’s penis peek.

Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s penis heads into his mouth and made Crowley ngk once more getting both long cocks half way into his mouth at once. The bastard, he held as long as he could, making his naga sweat and tremble waiting for him to give him relief. The bastard, he was going to repay him for this later. He would make him beg. 

Aziraphale finally paused, squirming under him until he finally let up and let him go.

“Ngk,” Crowley groaned and Aziraphale shook his head.

“I know its not proper, but I hear the phone,” he explained forcing himself awkwardly to his feet, staggering a bit as he moved towards the door. Crowley could hear what he was talking about now, the loft phone was going off from the living area. He didn’t recall giving anyone that line, Aziraphale must have, didn’t know why, the shop phone was fine enough.

“Ngk,” Crowley snared seeing as they were both hard and hardly close to finishing, he didn’t see why they couldn’t just let it keep ringing like they did the shop phone.

“The personal line is for emergencies and doesn’t have one of those machines,” Aziraphale said firmly staggering out of the room, easily bating away the tail trying to grab him once more. Crowley would never grab him without consent and he clearly wasn’t giving it, his mind set on answering the phone.

Any thought of continuing what they started was lost to panic after Aziraphale answered the line.

;

Newt had a very trying set of days.

He lay in the medical center, that was run by nuns, in a small town in the middle of nowhere after a nasty car crash. He glanced over at his only companion, the lovely young woman who had saved his life and stayed with him until he woke. What a lovely girl, no wonder Madame Tracy liked her so much, she stayed with him two days until he became conscious again.

“Mr. Fell called back,” she stated sitting back at his side, “Said he would be here in an hour. Seems like a good guy, he worked himself into a frenzy knowing you were hurt you know.”

“Mr. Fell is kind,” Newt began but stopped not knowing what else to say.

“He demanded to know why you didn’t call the personal line first like I suggested,” Anathema said sitting back in her chair, her personal post she had taken up the last few days since she brought him here.

“I feel as I have worried enough people,” he grumbled. He was turning red again in his embarrassment of this poor woman he didn’t even know staying with him for days just because he had crashed by her house. He hated that he made her feel responsible for him and was hating it even more he had now made kind Mr. Fell responsible for him. He should have called Shadwell like he planned too but Anathema, for whatever reason, hadn’t allowed him to. He often found it hard to disagree with people, but he found it impossible to disagree with her. She had this look about her that she always knew best. Maybe it was how well she presented herself, never a hair out of place, a flattering dress for each day he found himself in her presence and sharp brown eyes seemingly magnified by her glasses. There weren’t a lot of people in his life admittedly, but she was definitely the most put together.

Even Mr. Fell, who he also found rather put together, wore his anxieties on his sleeve and always wore a distant sad look when he thought no one noticed, Ms. Device carried nothing short of perfection. He would jump off a cliff if she told him, it would seem like the right thing to do just from her assurance. 

She shook her head and gently put her hand on his shoulder.

“You need that sometimes, Newt.” 

He didn’t say anything else and she went back to her book. Newt squinted at the cover and frowned; he had never heard of Agnes Nutter. He caught the word witch and just turned his mind from it entirely, his insides twisting at the thought of the panic poor Mr. Fell was going to bring with him.


End file.
